Tale XIII: How Siegfried Made War Against Herwic

Siegfried, king of Moorland, / called for all his men;
Ships were soon made ready, / wherever they were seen;
Then with food and weapons / to load them it was bidden,
For war against King Herwic: / from all but faithful friends his thoughts were hidden.

A score of wide, strong barges / bade he to be made.
I ween they liked it little / to whom the king now said
That forthwith unto Sealand / to fight must they be faring;
And he would thither hasten / as soon as, winter o’er, springtide was nearing.

Eighty thousand warriors / soon to him had come;
Of fighting men in Alzabie / none were left at home.
Then swore the Moorland princes / for war to make them ready;
Some of these still lingered, / others to follow with the king were speedy.

Then against the Sealands / the threat of war he made.
This roused the wrath of Herwic, / who well might him upbraid;
To earn the hate of Siegfried / wrong had he done him never.
His marches and his castles / he bade his men to guard, now more than ever.

Then he said in sorrow / to friends who came in haste
That foes would burn his castles, / and his lands lay waste:
All he could give his liegemen, / that he held but lightly.
They took their wages gladly; / that war would bring them riches, hoped they rightly.

About the gladsome May-time, / there went across the sea
Warriors out of Alzabie, / and eke from Abakie.
Onward came they proudly, / as tho’ the world’s end seeking;
Many now trod boldly / who in the dust their rest would soon be taking.

Into the land of Herwic / they cast the burning brand.
Then all whom he could gather, / and all his friends at hand,
Rode to the field with Herwic. / Thro’ war-storms grimly driven,
They with their lives must bargain / for gold and gems and silver to them given.

To him, the king of Sealand, / great ill erelong was wrought.
A stalwart foeman was he: / Aha, how well he fought!
He made the land the richer / with the dead there lying:
The old in fight grew youthful: / the strong were slain, who recked not yet of dying.

Long the fighting lasted, / till thickly lay the dead:
Then to the brave King Herwic / came at last the need
To flee into his marches, / for life he there was turning;
All his lands lay smoking: / of this to Gu-drun, his lady, sent he warning.

Now to the land of Hettel / men at his bidding went:
Many tears and bitter / they shed when they were sent
To find the great King Hettel, / and the tale to him to carry.
They were not long in showing / unto the king their plight so hard and dreary.

Tho’ sad in mood he found them, / a welcome kind he gave,
Such as far-off wanderers / and homeless friends should have.
He asked if from their homesteads / they were hither driven,
When foes their lands had wasted, / and all their marches had to flames been given.

Then to him they answered: / “In sorrow did we leave:
The faithful men of Herwic, / from early morn till eve,
Sell their lives full dearly, / and well his gifts are earning;
They fight for name and honor: / for this at home are many women mourning.”

Then to them said Hettel: / “To my daughter make it known;
Whatever she shall wish for / at once shall that be done.
If she for vengeance calleth / for the wrongs he wrought you,
We then will help you gladly, / and pay him back the ill that he has brought you.”

Before they yet had spoken / unto the fair young maid,
Already of her sorrow / her friends had taken heed.
The lady had been longing / to see the heralds hourly;
Them in haste she sent for, / the loss of land and honor, mourning sorely.

When they came before her, / they found the queenly maid
Sitting sad, and weeping,— / faithful love she had;
She asked them of her lover, / and how they leave had taken,
And if he still was living / when they of late had land and home forsaken.

Then answered one among them: / “We left him sound and well;
But since the day we saw him / we know not what befell,
Or how the men of Moorland / may his home have wasted:
Mischief they had done him, / neither from fire and plunder had they rested.

“Listen, high-born maiden! / my master’s bidding heed:
He and all his warriors / are now in sorest need.
To lose both life and honor / they are fearing daily;
And now my lord, King Herwic, / sends to beg your men to his help to rally.”

Gu-drun, the lovely maiden, / then from her seat upstood;
The wrongs that had been done her / she to her father showed:
She said her men were slaughtered, / and her castles wasted,
And told her father, Hettel, / that to ride to Herwic’s help she would he had hasted.

Then in her arms she pressed him, / her eyes with weeping wet:
“Help, O dearest father! / My woes are all too great,
Unless your many liegemen, / with ready hand, are willing
To help my good friend Herwic: / none else can end the strife, my sorrow healing.”

“That will I leave to no one,” / the king did freely say;
“I will haste to help King Herwic, / and wait not many a day.
As well as I am able, / I will end your sorrow:
I will call for the aged Wâ-te / and many other friends, before the morrow.

“He will bring from Sturmland / all the men of his lands;
And when ’tis known by Morunc / how ill with us it stands,
Fighters full a thousand / to bring will he be speedy.
Our foes shall find out quickly, / that under helmets we to march are ready.

“Horant, too, from Denmark / shall bring upon the way
Of men full thrice a thousand: / nor will Irold stay;
But he will raise his banner, / and hasten to the slaughter.
Then, too, thy brother Ortwin / will come, and all will earn the blessing of my daughter.”

The heralds soon went riding / whom the maid did send.
Her friends far off were living, / but all who help would lend
To heal the maiden’s sorrow / would honor great be earning;
Knights would she warmly welcome: / for this erelong the more to her were turning.

Hilda, the maiden’s mother, / unto her daughter spake:
“Whoe’er is quick to help you, / and now his shield shall take
To follow with your warriors / when they to war are faring,
Whate’er we gain by fighting / he shall, in truth, henceforth with us be sharing.”

Then the chests were opened; / men to court soon bore
Whate’er therein was lying, / of fighting-gear a store,
Fast with steel well studded; / then the knights were laden
With armor white as silver: / this made glad the heart of the queenly maiden.

To full a thousand warriors / were given clothes and steeds;
Out of stalls men brought them, / as oft the horse one leads,
When, along the highways, / men to the fight go riding.
Of all the king’s good horses / they left but very few at rest abiding.

When from his queenly lady / the king his leave did take,
Both Hilda and her daughter / began to weep for his sake;
But on the knights forth riding / gladly they were gazing,
And said: “May God in heaven / so help the fight that men may you be praising.”

After they all were gathered / without the castle gate,
Youths were there heard singing, / hoping for plunder great.
Each thought, by hardest fighting, / to win himself much riches;
But far must they yet be riding, / for long the way to their master’s foemen stretches.

On the third morning early / came, at break of day,
The very aged Wâ-te / with a thousand to the fray;
And from the Danish kingdom, / as the seventh day was dawning,
Came Horant with four thousand, / to whom the fair Gu-drun had sent her warning.

From out the Waalisch marches / Morunc thither rode;
He ever fought for the ladies, / for the love to them he owed.
Twenty thousand warriors / he brought,—for nought he tarried:
These were all well-weaponed, / and happily rode, while help to the king they carried.

The queenly maiden’s brother, / Ortwin, the youthful knight,
Brought across the water, / to help her in the fight,
Forty hundred warriors, / or even a number greater:
Were it known to the men of Alzabie, / well might they have feared to meet him later.

Before they yet could help him, / to Herwic and his men
The strife had now gone badly, / his luck began to wane:
To him and all his followers / was evil sore betiding;
Altho’ they struggled bravely, / his foes too near his castle gate were riding.

Great mishaps to Herwic / from Siegfried’s kin arose;
For now the gates of the castle / were shattered by their blows.
False friends had made it easy, / and boasts too loudly spoken:
If e’er to such one trusteth, / it worketh him no good, and his hopes are broken.

Now ’twas told to Herwic, / men fast for help had gone.
The foes from fight ne’er rested, / by anger driven on;
From early morn to even, / they oft to the strife were bidden:
But now the friends of Herwic / on every side drew near, nor long lay hidden.

When this the men of Karadie / did learn, they well might fear
That now two kings against them / in the fight should share:
For them it was unlucky / that Hettel now was leading
His many fighters thither; / he from afar had come, to Herwic speeding.

Friends were they to each other; / so both would meet the foe.
These, the men from Moorland, / bold themselves did show:
One saw by all their bearing / they would from none be flying;
Those who with them struggled / by hardest toil must their reward be buying.

Wâ-te, the very daring, / with all his knights had come;
Gu-drun, the lovely lady, / had called him from his home
To help her lover, Herwic, / and a host had ridden hither:
Whate’er might now befall them, / later full happy rode they thence together.

Although their foes were heathen, / from out the Moorish land,
They might not back be driven: / one well might understand
That in any earthly kingdom / they were the best and boldest.
To all who came to meet them / they gave a sorry welcome and a shelter coldest.

Herwic, king of Sealand, / his loss would now make good
Upon his foes from Alzabie. / For this must flow the blood
On either side of many; / to friends and kin were given
Wounds full fast and heavy: / to bear his own was hard for Hettel even.

When they had come together / of whom I spoke before,
Bringing all their followers, / gladness they knew no more;
On them were ever resting / heavy care and sorrow
For what the night might bring them. / They thought: “How shall we live to see the morrow?”

Thrice with the Moorish foemen / they strove on the stormy field,
While peace was given the castle, / as knights are wont to yield.
Again with sword and spear-shaft / they the strife would settle:
Peace not yet they wished for, / but wounds the more they got in hard-fought battle.

Nor Herwic’s men nor Siegfried’s / yet would leave the fight;
They to the last had struggled, / and many a bravest knight
Upon the field lay wounded, / or in death was sleeping.
This was told to the women, / who now began a wild, unmeasured weeping.

How well the daring Wâ-te / in battle-storm did fight!
Strong was he and skilful, / and oft the aged knight
Gave to the foe heart-sorrow, / by all the ill he wrought him:
Ever to fight with his warriors, / by the side of the boldest and best, his wishes taught him.

Horant, too, from Denmark, / brave was he enough!
Beneath his hand were shattered / helmets strong and tough;
Ne’er by him ’twas forgotten / to wear his armor shining;
Ill he wrought to many, / and oft the ranks of his foemen he was thinning.

The quick and fearless Morunc / boldly stretched his hand
Ofttimes beyond his buckler, / and oft the fight he gained.
To shun the king of Moorland / ne’er would he be seeking;
Upon that king, so mighty, / he the wrath of Herwic now was wreaking.

The great and doughty Hettel, / when that his daughter fair
Had sent to beg her father / in Herwic’s fight to share,
That peace at last might follow, / fought for him not idly:
If life were dear to any, / ’twere best to shun King Hettel’s borders widely.

Bravely strove King Herwic / on the field and at the gate;
None than he fought better. / His head was often wet,
Beneath his armor dripping, / with sweat that fast was oozing.
In death were many deafened; / they who would crush him must their lives be losing.

Wigaleis, the faithful, / great ill to many wrought.
Sir Fru-te, too, from Daneland, / with knightly prowess fought:
The thanks of all his fellows / he should of right be sharing;
He strove where the fight was stormy, / and none e’er knew an aged knight so daring.

The lord who came from Ortland, / Ortwin, brave and young,
Showed the hand of a warrior; / it was on many a tongue,
That never man in warfare / bore himself more boldly:
Wounds he gave the deepest, / and this by none was ever told of coldly.

For twelve long days of fighting, / earnestly they strove.
The men led on by Hettel / oft their spear-shafts drove
Thro’ their foes’ light bucklers, / as close they met together:
The fighters proud from Moorland / sorely rued the day that brought them thither.

Upon the thirteenth morning, / ere early mass was said,
With sorry heart spake Siegfried: / “How many here lie dead
Of all our bravest warriors! / In his lofty wooing
The king of Sealand also / here to himself has evil great been doing.”

Then to the men of Karadie / made he known his will,
To a stronghold to betake them, / there their wounds to heal:
They, with those from Alzabie, / were earnest to go thither;
Right glad were these far-riders / that all in death might not be found together.

Then to a sheltering castle / to turn they all began,
Where onward, fast beside it, / a wide, deep river ran.
While they were thither riding, / fleeing away from danger,
They were still seen fighting / with those who ne’er would yield their homes to a stranger.

Now against King Hettel / the king of Moorland rode:
Well might one believe it, / his former warlike mood
Was but a slight beginning; / he soon a foe was meeting
Who many of his kinsmen / with deep and deadly wounds of late was greeting.

Hettel, he of the Hegelings, / and Siegfried, the Moorland king,
There unto the struggle / all their strength did bring;
Shields were hacked to pieces / by the swords they wielded:
The mighty lord of Moorland / to the castle fled, nor to him of Daneland yielded.

Camps by the men from Denmark / for themselves were made:
Then the beleaguered warriors,— / it cannot be gainsaid,—
E’er many days were over, / with care were burdened sadly;
However good their shelter, / all would then have been at home more gladly.

Thus the boastful fighters / were by the foeman’s hand
Fast held within the stronghold; / nor was their knightly band
Now able to give battle, / although for this yet longing.
Their castle well they guarded, / as best they might, wherein they now were thronging.